


I Will Think of Something

by mattysones



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 10:02:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattysones/pseuds/mattysones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matthew's relationships with Francis and Arthur were never bad, they just were. Gift fic for historyblitz.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Think of Something

His boots cracked on the dirt path that led to his reclusive home in a place where trees were everywhere, a sky that stretched for miles before the dizzying fall to a nearly untouched earth. Francis took a deep breath, tired and unsure if he would be able to handle Matthew's enthusiasm when he saw the boy.

Francis had built a house for visiting his new land named "Canada". It was a shack compared to his great home back in France, but he amused himself with the rustic quaintness of it. Francis had decided Matthew deserved more than log cabins. That he deserved more than those piles of wood Arthur had built for America that Canada had been so awed by. The gesture had not gone unnoticed by Arthur, though as much pleasure it brought Francis to know this, it really didn't matter. The boy had been cowed and all eyes and "oo's" and "aa's" while he ran around his new home, not quite sure what to make of it. Francis had been proud but, more importantly, his charge was happy.

When Arthur had been making grabby hands at this new land, Francis had been ecstatic to see the resemblance of himself in this new country hiding in the woods. Francis had whisked the boy away and safe from That Punk Brit, held him like a doll and taken a look at the bright child, light wispy hair and shining blue eyes, "I'll call you New France!" Francis had declared.

To which the boy had blinked down at him and said quietly, not without some question, "I already have a name."

"Oh?"

The boy had smiled and nodded, "It's Kanata."

Francis had melted and hugged his new charge, "Then we will call you Canada for now." And Canada had been perfectly happy with that, just as he had been with his new house.

Francis saw a blond head poke from inside the front door, peering, assessing, before a happy cry reached Francis' ears and he could see a flurry of white streaking down the path. Still young enough to wear a dress. Francis felt a little less tired and took the small hands into his own when they reached for him.

"Big Brother!" Matthew giggled; Francis spun Matthew in a circle then let him down. Matthew grinned and trailed along while Francis made his way to the house, "I caught a fish today!"

"Oh?" Francis looked down at the little sprite hopping alongside him.

Matthew beamed, "Yes! In the river!" he skipped ahead a few paces, "The trappers said I should cook it on a fire, but I said France would want to do something with it."

He had saved it for him. How thoughtful and endearingly unnecessary, but, Francis couldn't help the pleasure in knowing that Matthew had thought of him. 

Absently, Francis wondered how the humans reacted to Matthew saying a country's name as though it was a person. He had seen the trappers watch Matthew play in the rivers they followed, confused but ultimately accepting and heartened to see something so carefree. They were not gentle men, but Matthew seemed to infect everyone with joy when he was joyous, and melancholy when he was sad. He was soft-spoken and sweet and Francis hoped that never changed.

To be honest, Canada was not France's most important colony, but was Francis' favorite. All the others had been well into their teens by the time he arrived, had established themselves and were quite difficult to deal with. Canada was still young enough to mold and shape in his image. More importantly, Matthew didn't seem to mind his visits. He realized this would probably change in the future, but until then ...

"What would you like me to make with your fish?"

Matthew's face flushed and his voice grew timid, "Well ..."

Francis bent and scooped the boy in his arms, pausing to open the front door with his shoulder, "Yes?"

Matthew wrapped his arms around Francis' neck and ducked his head, "Will you show me how to make something?"

Francis' inner chef swelled with pride, "Anything in mind, dear Matthew?" Francis tightened his hold when he felt the head buried in his neck shake. He grinned, "Then I will think of something."

\--  
When Francis was trying to think of a human name for his little Canada, he conceded that he did look a bit like Arthur. Actually, he looked quite a bit like America ("Alfred" as he was now, what a horrible name) who sort of looked like Arthur. Whatever Canada looked like, it wasn't completely Francis which was a bit disappointing. Still, Canada was a gift no matter who he looked like and Francis intended to treat him that way.

"Matthieu," Francis had said aloud, and Canada had known in all his little kid wisdom that it was another name Francis was bestowing. He stood from his place in front of the fire and ran over by Francis' knee, who was sitting with a book.

"Matthew!" Canada repeated, and Francis could practically see the spelling difference (it mattered to him), "Is that mine?"

Francis paused and studied the inquisitive face staring up at him, before smiling and laying a hand on a muss of blond hair, "Yes, it's all yours." Canada made a pleased noise and batted Francis' hand away from his head. "You know," Francis started dramatically, waiting for that turn of the head, the leaning in to make sure he didn't miss a word. Francis boinked Canada's nose, "Only the most important colonies get human names. You know what this means, right?"

Canada stared until the recognition dawned, and Francis had never seen him smile brighter. Matthew squealed happily, rocketing off the floor and into Francis' lap.

"Thank you Big Brother!"

Francis didn't think he had hugged a colony tighter.  
\--

Ever since Alfred left, Matthew got the feeling that no matter what he did Arthur was watching him a bit more carefully than before. It had been a tangible change in Arthur's demeanor, unspoken and made Matthew more than a little uncomfortable. Still, he enjoyed Arthur's company more than not, and since America was no longer any sort of shelter, Matthew invited Arthur to his home. They gladly talked about nothing, filled Matthew's kitchen with the smell of tea and baking.

It was the house Francis had built. Matthew had refused to destroy it despite Arthur's not-so-subtle suggestions. He loved all the things Francis had given him. No matter how long Arthur had tried to bat Francis' influence away, Matthew refused, stood fast and gently (sometimes not so gently, they had their rows) told him that there were some things Arthur could never will away. Matthew knew there were things about Francis that Arthur didn't mind, though Arthur would never admit it. Matthew tried to take whatever Arthur saw of France within him and make it positive. 

So, Matthew understood the reaction to the dish he placed in front of Arthur; His eyes narrowed distrustfully, though the plate's contents looked more extravagant than anything Arthur had tried to concoct outside a cauldron, "What's this? I didn't teach this to you." he demanded with suspicion.

"It's not burnt enough for you to have taught it to me," Matthew teased. He laughed when Arthur pouted at him, "It's Sole Bretonne, Francis taught it to me a long time ago."

Arthur looked at the dish for a moment, then took a mouthful despite his complaining. Matthew settled in the chair across from him with his own plate. Arthur chewed, paused, then sniffed, "It's mushy," he grouched, then took another bite. 

Matthew smiled, and shrugged the way Francis did when he thought Arthur was being cute. Arthur didn't mind because it was Matthew, and Matthew never meant anything by his teasing. They ate in companionable silence.

"May I ask you a question?" Matthew asked suddenly, partway through their meal.

Arthur looked up and smiled an almost imperceptive smile, "I believe you already did," he met Matthew's eyes to signal that he was listening, "It depends on the question," 

Matthew appeared a little embarrassed, "Well, um ..." he twirled his fork nervously before setting it down, "What would you have named me if you had found me first?"

The raise of thick eyebrows and leaning back in his chair was Arthur's only betrayal of surprise, "Well," he started thoughtfully. He smiled when Matthew relaxed; Matthew had thought he'd be angry, "Probably Alexander, or Arnold."

Matthew wrinkled his nose, "Arnold?"

"It's a very dignified name," Arthur responded prissily.

Matthew just laughed, picked up his fork again.

"Why?" Arthur asked after a moment.

Matthew shook his head, "Just curious." He hesitated, "Why those names?"

Arthur shrugged, and when he didn't say anything further Matthew made no effort to persue the conversation. They would think of something later.

\--  
"When did you learn to cross stitch?"

Matthew paused in his handiwork to look at Francis, who leaned over his chair to peer at the cloth in his hands.

"Oh, not too long ago," Matthew responded, and held up the hoop so Francis could see, "When Arthur showed me and Alfred how to mend our clothes, I asked him later if there was anything more uh," Matthew smiled in an embarrassed way. "artistic."

Francis nodded and pulled away to go to the chair he designated as his own while visiting. Matthew watched Francis settle himself with a book, relaxed and focused.

He played with the cloth in his lap before asking, "Does it bother you?" It prompted Francis to look up questioningly. Matthew tried to explain, "That I'm doing something Arthur taught me."

Francis sat surprised, before he snorted and waved a dismissive hand. "Of course not dear boy, why on earth should it?"

Matthew fidgeted. "Well, Arthur always gets irritated when I cook a recipe of yours, or say something in French ... so I thought..."

"Arthur is a stubborn ass, holds grudges like no other and doesn't like me influencing his colonies," Francis said more shortly than he intended. 

Matthew flushed and looked down, thought of his words carefully, "You've made no attempt to make things better with him." The younger man pointed out quietly.

Francis smiled and leaned further into his chair, tapped his fingers on the open book on his lap, "So is the nature of our relationship," he said a little more than matter-of-fact and not begrudging, "We're content not entirely hating each other, not entirely rejecting the other. It's been like this from the start." He looked at Matthew who was listening, blue eyes bright and absorbing everything his ears could not. His face betrayed no desire to ask anymore questions, and how like him, Francis thought, to listen and learn, and not question and not discourage further responses. Like a reflection, he observed. Francis smiled wryly, "You do things the way Arthur showed you all the time, I can't possibly be upset about all of them."

The question came to Matthew's eyes this time, but Francis chose to ignore it. Instead, he tapped his forehead in a 'silly me' gesture. "I was just thinking that it never occurred to me to teach you to sew, despite my fabulous wardrobe."

Matthew smiled. "Ah, well all the good it would have done me. I'll never have your fashion sense. I just wanted something nice for the wall."

Francis brightened. "You must make me something next! I'm afraid your statues don't quite fit with the rest of my decor."

Matthew hummed and returned to his stitching, "Then I will think of something," he responded musingly.

\--  
Francis didn't know when he had started knocking when he arrived for his visits. At some point the little boy he knew would wait for him, had to be called for (though his surprise visits were never a surprise, “How did you know I was coming?” Francis would ask, “I could feel you on the water!” little Matthew would respond as if it were the most obvious thing in the world). The visits began to get less frequent; Arthur had won Matthew a long time ago, there were wars, there were diplomatic issues, things that Francis had long been used to but Matthew was still learning.

Francis hoped Matthew understood, and figured he did since Matthew still greeted him warmly and without hesitation.

Speaking of which, when was the boy going to answer the door?

He knocked louder, quirking his head when he heard a shuffle from inside and a pained yelp.

“Matthew?” Francis called, “What are you doing?”

The door finally cracked open and a blond head poked out. Matthew looked up at Francis, flustered, “We should go out to eat!” he blurted while he kept the door as closed as possible.

Francis gave him a confused study then attempted to peer around the door, “Nonsense! “ he stood tiptoe when Matthew’s arm shot up to hide whatever crack Francis might be able to see over. Francis reached for the door handle and pulled, not entirely surprised when Matthew proved stronger, “What are you hiding?” 

“We should really go out!” Matthew insisted, pulling harder when Francis wedged his foot in the door and gained leverage.

It occurred to Francis to check that Matthew was fully clothed. He grinned despite that he was indeed, fully clothed. “Are you hiding a pretty girl in there?”

Matthew turned red, “What!?”

Francis became a little more determined and nearly pulled the door from Matthew’s surprised grip, “Oh! I must see her! I’m sure she’s quite the beauty!”

“Stop it!” Matthew cried, falling forward when he underestimated Francis’ determination to potentially see a naked lady. Matthew shoved the door forward, surprising Francis backwards and Matthew stepped outside. The door slammed shut.

Francis gathered himself and looked at Matthew expectantly who was practically sprawled across the door protectively.

“Um…” Matthew flustered, he looked down, and Francis bent to see Matthew’s embarrassed face, “It’s filthy in there.”

Francis blinked, “Huh?”

“I haven’t cleaned in ages. You don’t want to eat in there,” Matthew looked away, “There’s a nice place one of your people just opened in a nearby town, we can …”

“You don’t want me in there because you haven’t dusted?”

Matthew’s face darkened, “It’s more than dust.”

Indeed it was. Francis was almost impressed at the amount of boxes, books, knickknacks, furniture, clothes, electronics, paperwork and pens strewn across the house. Artwork that hadn’t been hung, projects that hadn’t been finished and least of all, dusted. It was a relief to see that there was no visible kitchenware.

Francis looked at the floor in front of the front door and saw that there were mud tracks all over the tile. He cleared his throat, “How long has it been?”

Matthew hid his face again, “Since you last visited …”

Francis paled. His eyes glinted with determination, “Show me the kitchen, Matthew.”

The kitchen at least, was in perfect shape. No rodents here, probably. This made the whole mess almost forgivable. However, the dining room was in as bad shape as the entrance.

“Well,” Francis started, “I guess you’ll be lending me a t-shirt.”

Matthew’s face went blank. “What?”

“We need to clean this up before we can eat.” Francis pouted at him, “How could you treat the lovely home I gave you this way? Honestly.”

Matthew’s eyes became glassy, and he had the grace to look ashamed before running upstairs to grab his neglected cleaning supplies.

\--  
They didn’t get through all of the mess, but were hungry, dirty and tired after several hours, and after their showers, Matthew made Francis sit as far away from the stove as possible (Francis liked to be nosey on food matters) while he cooked.

“I see you are like your brother in several things now,” Francis mused while he stretched.

Matthew smiled as he stirred a saucepan of vegetables around, “I guess we’re both kind of pack rats,” he said absently, then looked over his shoulder, unable to help being a bit embarrassed that Francis was watching him, “We get attached to things.”

Francis' eyes glinted, “Attached to all that dust?”

“And all the things the dust is on.” Matthew turned to turn off the stove’s heat, then moved to dump the skillet’s contents into a corning ware dish already filled with fish.

Francis crossed his legs and started bouncing his foot, “You’ve grown a lot.”

“Hmm?” Matthew glanced at the man sitting on a lone chair on the far side the kitchen, before he knelt to put his dish in the oven.

Francis continued to watch him, “Well, some of that paperwork looked positively dull!” He gestured dramatically despite his lack of audience, “I’m afraid my brain started leaking just looking at it.”

Matthew smiled, his eyes shining mirror-like before he started cleaning the stray flour on his counters. “You can thank yourself for that. If you hadn’t found me I wouldn’t have had paperwork.”

Francis’ face fell a little. “You are disappointed you were found?”

“Of course not. I’m glad it was you who stayed around.”

Matthew pulled a stool next to Francis’ chair, propped his hands on his knees, looked at Francis directly, “The Nordics found me first and I chased them away. I couldn’t chase you away.”

Francis pouted, “You make that sound like a bad thing.”

Matthew’s smile softened, “Not bad, it just is.” When Francis looked at him with question, Matthew pushed forward. “Just like most the things you and Arthur have taught me. It’s not good or bad.”

Francis hummed and stretched again. “Perhaps you'll teach us one day.”

Matthew grinned and watched Francis stretch in his chair. “I’m sure I’ll think of something.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 2009.


End file.
